Now When I Say Gay
by OrangePlum
Summary: "Why are you so gay, Russia?" Russia blinked and looked curiously at the American who was regarding him with an irritated scowl. "Would you like me to show you?" Playoff of American slang.


A/N: Playoff of words. I don't know why I picked Russia to accompany America in this story, but I think he fits it rather well. Where I come from, the word gay means at least three things. The first is happy, which, I might add, isn't used too often and it plays no part in this story. The other two meanings are homosexual and stupid. America uses the slang version for 'stupid' or 'dumb', whereas Russia isn't aware of this and thinks he means homo.

Uhm, on another note, I will not be updating as much since I start school this Wednesday. I know I haven't been updating all that much anyway, but I thought I should let you know. I don't know when I'll get the time to write, but considering I have a million half completed stories in my folder (and by a million, I mean over twenty) perhaps if I put my mind to it I could treat people to a chapter every now and then. Most of them are oneshots, though…

So that's how this goes. I have been submitting a lot of pointless word babble oneshots lately, but I must say that it is fun. If this offends you in any way then the only thing I can say to you is 'lighten up'. : )

Enjoy.

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"Russia, why are you so gay?"

Russia's fingers twitched lightly over the edge of the paper he was holding, eyes flitting up to peer curiously at the nation across the room from him. America sat drooped languidly over the side of an ottoman, frown set in place and bored eyes peering up behind sagging lids. Russia straightened up from the work he was doing, work he was actually being _forced _to do because of America's impatience and horrible skill to procrastinate, and tapped the top of his pen testing against the sheet.

"Pardon me?" he replied, finding himself faintly confused with America's brash and seemingly random question. America made no immediate move to reply, merely sat back and toyed around with a candy wrapper crumpled up against the coffee table.

He'd had quite a few candy bars whilst waiting for Russia to hurry up with the papers he needed. America reasoned the human icicle was taking his sweet time on purpose, knowing that if this was late it would be no skin off his nose. His big, smug nose. America blew a strand of hair out of his eye and rolled his head back against the headrest. He was bored. And boredom brought himself to the farthest and strangest corners of his mind, which was where his question lay.

Hey, three hours of sitting in a chair and staring at the wall, nothing but the scratching of a pen on paper, could make you do strange things.

Blue eyes looked up to see Russia sitting there, head tilted and eyes abashed with innocent cluelessness. "I asked why you are so gay?" he repeated.

It was a stupid question really. America already knew why Russia was gay. It had something to do with the odd way he conducted himself. From the lead pipe he carried around under his coat, to his borderline obsessive fascination with sunflowers, to even that smile he wore that never reached his eyes but managed to send painful shivers down any nation's spine; Russia was just…_gay._

This time Russia placed his pen fully flat against his desk, head tilting to the side at the question. His eyes searched America in scrutiny, completely cautious of what trap he may have been walking into. Much clearer, "You would like to know the reason as to…why I am gay?" he asked questioningly. Well that was a surprise. He wasn't even sure anyone would be able to notice, let alone someone as dense as America. Why ask now, _here_, of all places? His brow furrowed slightly at the tinges of confusion blurring the corners of his vision.

This was odd, indeed.

"Yeah," America responded without skipping a beat, legs dangling over the side of the chair. He pulled at the cuff of his jacket before yawning. "Care to say?"

Russia pondered this, eyes narrowing and staring at the unfinished paperwork in front of him in thought. "I –" he paused, the gears in his mind sticking together momentarily. He looked up again and mulled this over at the raised eyebrow he received from America. Folding his hands together under the table, Russia smiled a small little grin. "What a bizarre question you have. Where is this coming from if I may ask?"

America shrugged. "Curiosity."

Well that certainly wasn't the response Russia was hoping for. His smile faltered a moment before he placed his hands against his desk to rest them there. "That is all?" he continued, unsatisfied with that reaction. It couldn't be that simple. It never was.

"Yup."

But then again, this _was_ stupid America.

Shifting in his seat, Russia pulled his lips in a tight smile, resembling more of a grimace. "That is just the way I am, I suppose." He was about to pick up his pen again when America scoffed disbelievingly, hand frozen in midair.

"Doubt that. No one can be that gay from birth."

This befuddled the Russian. He took a quiet breath through his nostrils before quirking his head in a tiny sign of surrender. "No…I presume not. However, I was not…_gay_, as you so _elegantly_ put it, from birth." He smiled again, though his voice strained over America's choice of words to describe him. He would admit to this, though. Why deny when he was being so blatantly called out on it.

"So then why are you like that?" America asked again, nose crinkling when not getting a proper answer. He was bored; the least Russia could do was explain to him why he was so stupid. Even though…Well, even though his question was completely inane and rhetorical. He would have dropped it if Russia had ignored it like he'd previously thought he would. But he was taking it rather seriously to America's surprise.

Russia was quiet, the air in the room growing rather thick. America was rather persistent when it came to digging into his personal affairs. He didn't much appreciate it. His skin tingled at the expectant gaze he was receiving before he conceded and tensed with a faulty smile. "Would you like me to show you?"

America blinked owlishly before his boot kicked the corner of the coffee table on accident. He watched with a great deal of discomfort as Russia arose from his seat and breached America's safety bubble in a matter of six strides. Something built itself in his stomach as an uncomfortable knot when Russia towered over him, shadow looming like a blanket of darkness. America flinched when Russia kneeled down, long leather boots making a keening noise in resistance to Russia's weight being lowered.

At eyelevel Russia let out a breath from his lips, the smell of vodka hitting America's face like a wall. He withheld a grimace and stood his ground as Russia's face dipped over his. He flinched, confusion overcoming him like a cloth. What? What? What was going on now?

Russia could see the discomfort on America's face as well as his feeling of bewilderment. His smile grew.

He leaned in to the point that America was pressed so far back against the ottoman that he appeared like a caged animal about to be devoured. Something akin to thrill or excitement rippled up Russia's spine that made the tiniest form of white peek out from his lips, eyes dark and unfaltering. America stared back with uncertainty. "Wh-what are you…" he couldn't manage the rest out past the horrified ball lodged in his throat.

Russia closed in, lips nearly brushing against America's. The American froze, eyes squeezing shut in a solid form of either repulsion, shock, or just the terror of the situation he'd suddenly found himself in. Russia let out a chuckle, slowly pulling his face away to watch America's own face gradually relax, eyes peeking open curiously. He blinked, lip quivering as the picture painted itself out in the twinkle of Russia's amused eyes.

"H…Huh?"

Russia dug his fingers firmly into the soft locks of America's hair, strands pooling over his pale fingers like grain. "That, dear America, is the reason as to why I am the way I am."

They stayed like that for a long moment, realization slowly sinking into America's mind. His face? Was that it? His facial reactions?

Oh.

_Oh._ Russia was – he was talking about_ that_ kind of – oh jeez, he wasn't meaning the slang at all, he was – no, no. That wasn't what America meant by…Oh man. He felt his face heat up, ears catching fire in embarrassment. With a huff, he slapped the hand away and flailed, Russia watching in amusement as America fell out of his chair. He proceeded back to his desk where he began to work on his paperwork once more.

"I didn't mean – _t-that_, you know! I wasn't talking about…"America stopped himself, confused as to how he could explain himself. Russia merely lifted his violet eyes to rest on the disturbed nation by his coffee table, mirth echoing from deep inside.

"Satisfied?" he inquired with intrigue.

America placed his face in his palms and groaned. "More than I needed to ever know."


End file.
